


devil in the sheets

by silenceinmolasses



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alpha Matthew, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Choices, Consensual, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Fuck or be Mildly Inconvenienced, Grocery Shopping, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Identity Reveal, Kissing, Knotting, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Metaphors, Mutual Pining, OTP Feels, Omega Foggy Nelson, POV Foggy Nelson, Porn with Feelings, Season/Series 01, Self-Lubrication, Sex Toys Under Clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 11:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18475120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silenceinmolasses/pseuds/silenceinmolasses
Summary: Matt is the only alpha for Foggy. So why is the Devil so insistent?





	devil in the sheets

Foggy is politely minding his own business, trying to save Hell's Kitchen one client at a time when Matt, his tie askew and a scratch on his cheek, not only comes in too late but also stops dead in his tracks in the middle of their little office. Instead of his usual mumbled apology/explanation/what the hell is it this time, Matt exclaims:

"Foggy, you're in heat!" like some kind of _animal_ , as if they didn't have Omega 101 pamphlets littering all window sills in Columbia. 

"See, he does this all the time." Foggy lifts the piece of paper out of the printer's tray. It's blank again. Foggy waves it dramatically, "yes, omegas go into heats, straight A, Murdock."

Though Matt has enough sense to look sheepish, it still irks Foggy. He has been feeling feverish and horny since this morning when he gorged on Nutella and jerked off in his kitchen while the kitty clock stared at him disapprovingly.

"Then perhaps you should leave earlier. Karen and I will take care of everything," Matt tries for nonchalance.

"And then leave early tomorrow because I am still in heat _tomorrow_. And Karen, she is..." Foggy inhales noisily, "she is writing her article, Matt, I'm not dropping everything and leaving."

"It's not a problem," Karen pipes up from the kitchen area. She is holding a mug of steaming... something. As she comes closer, Foggy picks up a vague smell of herbs and honey.

A textbook remedy for an omega in their early heat.

"Karen, not you too," Foggy groans loudly. As he takes the mug, Karen beams and brushes his hair softly. On his other side, Matt takes the empty sheets of paper out of his hand.

"I can bring waffles for lunch," he stands close, his body warm. He still remembers how much Foggy craves sweet food during his heats, even though lately he rarely answers him phone. It's so easy to remember why Foggy thinks Matt is a perfect alpha for him.

"I already have plans," he ducks between the alphas, leaving their gentle hands and warm concern behind. Matt's disappointment clings to him like wet silk.

*

Foggy locks the door and carelessly tosses his shoes in the hallway. Though he can barely think because of the shimmering, swelling heat in his lower belly, his remaining two cells agree to hang his only good jacket on the back of a chair before he drops his trousers and underwear. Foggy half leans over his couch, moaning as he drags his hand over his erection and slips it between his legs.

He's been wet for _hours_ , a steadily building pressure he now feels in his teeth as he bites his inner cheek, trembling fingers circling his hole. Foggy can smell himself, tart and overwhelming, as slowly inserts one finger. He clenches, tight and hot, shivering as he gushes. His thighs are wet with slick.

It's not that Foggy hates his heats. He's had hundreds of them; one gets used to them eventually. The problem is that, two fingers now, he spreads them, pushing deeper into his body, it's that a simple biological imperative pollutes his social life.

Karen was close to licking his hair today. She doesn't want to take care of him like an alpha takes care of an omega but today her nose and those pesky hormones push her to mother hen him when she isn't a mother of anyone.

Foggy inserts the third finger, brushes his prostrate, yelps and falls head down onto the couch. The slick drips onto his pants as he drags his fingers over that spot again and again. It's unfair to think about Karen at this moment, her hair like spun sugar, her quiet affection, her creamy alpha smell, as he clumsily rolls his ships. His fingers slip out, he is that wet, and then he stuffs himself again.

Instead, Foggy thinks about Matt and he swears as he squirms. He thinks about Matt's stubble, imagines the sharp bite of it in the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He thinks about his smart, rosy mouth and the weight of Matt's hand on his elbow and how he wants the alpha to bite him so they could never separate.

Foggy barely has enough time to wrap a wet hand around his cock before he's coming, breathless in his pleasure and his guilt because there is no denying Matt deliberately tries to distance himself from Foggy, he volunteerly tears them apart.

And here he is, semen sticky on his stomach, fantasizing about them being mates. Foggy feels himself getting emotional and his dick is hard again.

*

Foggy puts the shopping cart down so he check out a discount can of sweet corn. He stares dumbly at the cartoon of two corns in skirts and ribbons kissing _(get it? coz it's super sweet)_ , before putting two cans in the cart next to the package of king sized candy bars and a whole pineapple. Might as well indulge himself.

Foggy turns to the left in search of an isle containing cereals. He's going to grab some instant porridge and he's good to go. Come back home and spend the night watching Captain America cosplay porn and fucking himself with his toy, then in the morning try to fix the copy machine, _again_ , and be coddled by the two gorgeous alphas who will feel rather awkward after his heat breaks.

Foggy groans mentally. 

After he picks up his groceries at the check out (no need to answer the cashier what kind of Halloween apocalypse he is preparing for), Foggy begins his slow track home.

Butt plugs are a small inconvenience; they feel so good and snug inside him. Foggy wears his loosest sweats which mercifully mask his boner. It's indecent going into public like that but he's... lazy. The outsides of his hole feel sensitive with how much he accidentally scraped his nails over it. He's stretched and wet ~~(perfect to slide into)~~. Foggy snickers to himself. At least it's too dark for anyone to see his blush, spreading down his neck beneath his hoodie. No one is close enough to catch a whiff of his slick. Thanks for small mercies.

Foggy yelps and jumps back as a figure lands in front of him; the plug in his ass shifts, grinding into his prostate, he bites back a moan. His heart races, first from fear, then anger, as he recognizes the man in black in front of him.

"Good evening, everyone's favorite vigilante," he sounds petty, ugly. The Devil straightens his back, his black outfit doing nothing to hide the hard lines of his muscles. He looks dangerous, "I kept hearing about you, glad to finally meet you face to face. I'm probably the only citizen who hasn't had the honor of being saved by you."

The man visibly swallows.

"Mr Nelson." he nods, "not the best time for a walk, is it?" his nostrils flare.

Foggy is speechless in his fury.

"I decide when is the best time, alpha," he hisses. He feels disbalanced, hot, his body too small to contain him, "I'm not doing this right now," he announces, the deceptive calmness as fragile as an old napkin; or his self-control. Foggy just wants to go home, drink some hot chocolate and jerk off till he can't get hard anymore.

Till his fantasies of being mounted and knotted split apart and his dream alpha is not his best friend anymore.

His omega in heat body perks up, heavy and warm, the space in between his legs feels vast. There he is, wet and needy, in a dirty street in front of an equally dirty man.

"Allow me to accompany you home?" The Devil steps closer and, _oh_ , there it is, the salty, rich scent of an alpha wishing to take care of a distressed omega. Foggy exhales noisily, annoyance pulsing together with arousal.

It's not too dark to see the curved outline in his jeans. Maybe. Maybe that's good. Foggy can use this image, can come all over himself to a whisper of an idea of being fucked by a faceless, nameless man who means nothing to him.

What's he kidding, he will think about Matt anyway, he's always thinking about Matt; it's like they're still living together. Maybe he is just imagining the streets and buildings between their apartments. Them being roommates in college might have been a fever dream, he is not sure anymore.

"Oh, no, I'm good. Don't you have pickpocketers to beat up?" Foggy passes the man, feeling himself gush embarrassingly, the tall, muscular figure throwing a shade over him.

"Foggy," he says darkly, clearly, following him a feet behind. Foggy thinks he can almost feel him breathing at the nape of his neck; it's hot and wet and his plug rubs pleasantly inside him.

_Shit._

"It's Nelson to you!" he snaps too loudly so that he wouldn't start moaning or something equally mortifying.

There is silence behind him for a moment or two.

"We haven't started on a good footing, have we?" The Devil chuckles to himself as if there is anything to talk about.

"I was unaware there was something between us," Foggy replies. A few more streets and he's home and this unexpected comaraderie will be swiftly forgotten and Foggy most definitely won't remember the sharp line of the Devil's shoulders or a glint of his teeth.

"Not even going to let me introduce myself?" in a few steps he catches up to Foggy and, Foggy chortles, extends his hand for a shake. The Devil tries so much, as if them having an easy chat actually matters to him, like Foggy is _somebody_ to him, not a wet omega he found in a parking lot.

"Hi," he shakes the hand, unthinking. The touch of the warmed, worn-in leather over his fingers makes him jump - makes his cock jump -, and as the thumb rubs against his pulse point, Foggy almost mewls.

"I'm glad," the Devil grins, all teeth.

Foggy will have wet dreams about that ruby red mouth for weeks.

"Well, now that we're all buddy-buddy, thanks for leading me home. Good job there, recommended," Foggy gives a thumbs up. A few more steps, close the door, and he can cream his boxers like a teenager.

The Devil bites the inside of his cheek, internally debating something very intensely.

"Invite me in," he declares. The alpha goes all out in Foggy's personal space. He breathing is stuttering like he's trying not to inhale too deeply, "I will help you through your heat."

"What the fuck?" Foggy sputters, rage sparking up and dying again. He's looking at the man, taking in the bulging of his arms, the thickness in his thighs. The pliability he projects, the softness that Foggy is always attracted to, as if the Devil of Hell's Kitchen knows what Foggy is made of.

He would fuck Foggy good, would carve his way inside, his knot would stretch him out right on the verge of pain. Foggy pretends he cares, he pretends he's tempted, he lets the Devil open the door to his apartment.

"No," he says, whimpers. He shoulders his way in, leaving the Devil behind.

"Why? You're desperate. Let me in for the night," he pushes, fingers twitching near Foggy's sleeve but not touching, "I'll be good for you."

"There is only one person I want to be good for me," Foggy replies, his mouth salivating and dumb.

He shouldn't have said that.

The Devil stiffens. His alpha blood gets hot, Foggy stares mesmerized as the man crowds him in against the wall, the door closing with a soft click, forgotten.

Foggy inhales and smells himself, the sweet, orange-like tang of his slick. His shin presses near the Devil's shin and Foggy thinks he will orgasm, just like that, alone with a dangerous man in front of him.

"Who?" the Devil growls.

"You know this person, my one and only alpha," the words sound too tired to be taunting. He wants... he wants to feel the sunlight on his face and hold Matt's hand in his.

The Devil visibly collects himself. He wants to push, obviously, burns to crawl inside Foggy and scoop him out, and yet he doesn't. 

"Is it Stahl? Page?" he asks, the fire of his lust now embers, dusty in their fatigue.

"Oh, I have so many questions," Foggy giggles. He swallows, trying to slow his breathing. His omega instincts encourage him to submit, as if they don't know who they are supposed to open him up for.

"It's Murdock," Foggy whispers, low and sweet. The Devil steps back, his alpha tongue probably tasting the longing, thick like cream, Foggy's words ivy green around them.

"Then..." he hunches over himself, "why isn't he here?"

Foggy laughs again, feeling softer, more loving, an omega to an alpha who's sensitive to his plight.

"He doesn't have to be," Foggy amicably pats the Devil on the shoulder, the material warm and the muscles tight. The body before him is like a feast; the omega in him salivating over the strength and willingness to touch. Foggy is attracted to the man in the mask, to this zealous body cramming itself with justice. He inhales and under musk he smells desire, warm like bread.

Everything single part of Foggy wants Matt, though, adores him, his heart lily white, looking up to the sun.

"I am here, though," the Devil's voice comes out silkier, surer, like he knows Foggy enough to realize he's in a dilemma. He steps closer, that short amount of space, as if having more than a few inches between them at any time is unthinkable, "I can help you. Just say yes."

Foggy's whole body throbs. A knee insistently nudges his trembling legs apart. The Devil brushes his thumb over Foggy's chin and he's good to go again. The tension in his lower belly increases, he's wet with sweat and lust.

The Devil is so earnest, it makes Foggy want to weep.

"It's not fair to you," he manages. His arm lifts to show he needs more time, more space, more anything, and it finds its way around the Devil's fever-hot neck; his hard cock is fever-hot against Foggy's hip.

"It's Murdock's fault," he whispers urgently; when Foggy parts his lips to disagree, the Devil kisses him. Well, he brushes his mouth over Foggy's, chaste like snow. Foggy still breaks, his knees buckling under the pressure of desire. He whimpers.

The Devil's hand is soft on his cheek, gentle, cradling his face the way the sea polishes a stone. They kiss sweetly, like they both can't smell the warm, spicy scent of Foggy's slick, as if the Devil's clever fingers are not playing with the strings of his sweats.

"Okay," Foggy mutters. He's given a glass of water when he wants to drown so he breathes out as the Devil lets out a victorious noise and seals the mouths together. His slick tongue slips past Foggy's lips, rubbing exquisitively over the roof of his mouth. Foggy's moans are loud, choked off, he starts slipping off the wall but the Devil grabs his hips and pulls him up, insistently kissing him like that is something he has always wanted to do. Foggy sucks on his tongue, lets him nibble of his lower lip.

The Devil holds him up and models his body as he sees fit. Foggy wraps his legs around the Devil's waist, grunting in his lust. He gets distracted over the ideas of being fucked just like that, against the wall, the bland light above catching the sharpness of the Devil's smirk and hiding the vulneral skin of his neck.

There's so much affection in his hands, in his mouth, in his dick.

"Say it again. You want this. You want me, you have always wanted me," the Devil forgets his need to breathe and chooses to kiss Foggy in between the words instead. His lips are warm and Foggy tries to hide his poppy red face; the sneaky hands, sliding into his wet sweats, are hot and Foggy groans hopelessly. The Devil fondles his ass, keeping him upright with his hips and determination. He slides his fingers down, rubbing into the soft flesh of Foggy's thighs. He is so close to where he's needed. _So close._ Foggy whimpers, an omega in heat.

"Foggy, I'm still waiting," he rubs hypnotically, playing with the spicy, sticky slick.

"Look, his cheeky," Foggy shuts them both up by kissing him, lips wet and his tongue wetter, needier. The Devil's sucks his tongue into his mouth, surging forward, showing what he can do, like he has something to prove, as if he needs to convince Foggy of his body and his lust.

"You like cheeky," he answers hoarsely, smiling, "are you gonna talk to me?" the Devil's hands finally wander in between Foggy's legs, sliding wetly over the base of the butt plug. Foggy squeaks, then it turns into moans, way too loud, as the Devil slides the toy out for a few inches before easily pushing it inside again. The noise makes Foggy gush and the Devil laughs, intimate and loving, like they're lovers.

"Is Foggy Nelson speechless for the first time in his life?" the Devil drapes himself over him, his strong, wiry body hot against the yielding softness of Foggy's, "I love listening to you, always," he whispers like a secret. For a hazy moment Foggy wonders when the vigilante supposedly listened to him "always" before his body accepts a finger along with the thrust of the plug, then two, squirming delightfully inside him. He rolls his hips and whines, tries to answer the Devil who is talking to the skin of his neck. He hears _good for me_ and _for so long_ and _moan more_ as the orgasm hits him, electric in its intensity. The toy and three fingers stretch him so well, muscular thighs locking him in place. Foggy trembles in the arms of the Devil, his body overheated, the weight around him welcomed.

Foggy shivers in disappointment.

"Bed," the Devil says, not moving. He hitches Foggy's leg around his waist, the fingers of his free hand restless around his hole, dipping shallowly, "you smell so good, I want to eat you up."

"The sentiment is mutual," Foggy tries to be sassy but the affection in the Devil's touch ruins the attempt.

"Good, that's really good, sweetheart," this answer is way too much _(there is only one person Foggy wants to be called sweetheart by)_ so he kisses him. The Devil licks along the seam of his lips before breaking the kiss and his smooth, gravely voice grips Foggy again, "I can't wait to knot you, couldn't think about anything else today. You're gonna be mine, aren't you?"

Foggy's omega brain melts like cream in the sun.

There is only one person Foggy wants to be knotted by and it's not him.

He squirms. The Devil's fingers sink sweetly into him up to the first knuckle and then he takes them out again.

Foggy doesn't feel like a playground, though he'd rather be. The Devil acts like they have all the time in the world.

"My bedroom," he says, "Condoms."

The Devil doesn't move, as hard and unrelenting as the wall he has Foggy propped up against.

"Say that you want this," the Devil keeps repeating it; the insistence, sticky and white, leaks into Foggy.

"I said so," he mumbles, trying to fuck himself on the lazy fingers. They're too slippery and he's too immobile.

"Oh, Foggy," the Devil whimpers sweetly, kinda sadly. He takes out the plug, letting it drip onto the floor before dropping it.

"Is it because," the Devil stops. His jaw clenches, it looks uncomfortable, "it's... okay, okay." he comes to a decision. His grabs onto Foggy, his fingers suddenly harsh, plunging into his hole, accurately brushing over his prostate and then just as precisely avoiding it. Foggy barely has time to groan before he's lifted. The forearms below his ass feel like tree roots, hard and full of life.

The Devil finds his room with unnerving accuracy. The unmade bed still smells of cum and slick, two different smells, salty and almost citrusy, mingling in the air. The Devil puts Foggy down on the sheets slowly, adoringly. The curtains are open and Foggy clearly sees the outline of his dick in the tight jeans.

"You smell so good," the man breaks the moment by whining dramatically. What a nerdy, homely noise: Foggy surprises himself by giggling. This? This he can have.

He spreads his legs, clumsily kicking off his sweats and boxers. He extends his arms towards the Devil at the end of his bed.

"You're coming?" Foggy asks quietly. It's almost intimate, they're breathing the same air, their vulnerability putting on a show. Foggy's dripping for the man who looks ready to kneel for him.

"Say that you want this," this time the words descend like a night: a touch of resignation, a brush of playfulness, a handful of softness.

"I want this," Foggy resigns. He's not lying, his body is wet and ready, tight where it matters.

He _is_ lying, his mouth, his ass, his hands are residue: what's left for the Devil out of his yearning for Matt.

The Devil is concentrating on something. All his attention, burning bright, all of it dedicated to solving something, solving Foggy.

The Devil drops the weight off his shoulders, giving in, sighing in the finality of it. He unbuckles his trousers, drops the belt on the ground. The Devil stalks closer, muscles on display, the upper half of his face still hidden, his mouth red in its kisses.

"I will make it so good for you," he says, affection in his voice like they have known each other all their lives, awe in his hands as they slide over Foggy's thighs.

"Let me come, will you," Foggy rebuts, his head hitting the pillow, moaning as the Devil nibbles the soft skin above his pelvis.

"That's all I can think about," he laughs like a friend, a buddy, and his fingers sink again into Foggy's body. That pretty pretty mouth closes over the wet head of his cock and the Devil sucks, his tongue greedy. Foggy urgently pats his hair, trying pull him away before he comes, gets a moan in return and he's gone, too much pleasure too quick for his exhausted body.

The Devil drinks him up, holding him tighter, closer.

"Shit, I'm sorry. You're killing me here," Foggy sighs and meets a honest, infectious smile he has only seen on Matt's face. Guilt comes shily like the first seconds of a tide. His heart buzzes like an enraged bee and the Devil is kissing him again. His stubble is scratchy and his tongue is vaguely salty; Foggy slurps it all up.

"Enjoy it, let me do it," the man in black in his bed kisses his cheek, his neck, finds a nipple under the old T-shirt, "at least this, at least for a while," he continues, barely making sense. The hard line of his dick makes Foggy swallow, he bites back a whine. He will be stretched so well, the girt filling him up.

"Condom," he manages through the sweltering heat in his chest, oozing through his biological lust. The Devil hums in agreement, his fingers suddenly clumsy as they reach the nightstand. He grabs the package, rips it open. The impatience makes Foggy want to tense up, his muscles liquid like his slick.

The Devil's cock is heavy and meaty, proudly curving up. Foggy watches sluggishly as the man drags him closer, jerks him off for a few times, pats his thighs as if he has to commit everything to memory.

"Do you want it?" he grins.

"Yeah," Foggy grunts and then the Devil sinks in. The slide is gentle, wet and absolutely _perfect_. He moans breathlessly, his back arching to pull the Devil's cock deeper. He closes his eyes, the pleasure gold under his eyelids. He opens them again as a hand grips his fingers, linking them.

The Devil looks like he's having a religious experience. He's smiling, a true, mellow smile, soft like clean sheets in the wind, almost painful in its honesty.

"We could have had this all this time," he rasps, and then laughs, joyfully, leaning down to kiss Foggy.

It's a lot to take in, pun intented. Foggy rolls his hips, the fingers of his free hand digging perhaps too deep into the Devil's biceps as the man fucks him so good. He tries to avoid the kisses; he doesn't... doesn't deserve them. The Devil scrapes his teeth over his pulse point.

"Fog, what's wrong?"

He wants the man on top of him to be Matt, that's what's wrong. Foggy thinks his eyes are wet.

The following few thrusts are shallower, less focused.

"Do you want it on all fours?" the Devil whispers. He stops and pulls out, the beginning of his covered knot catching on Foggy's rim, making them both shudder. After Foggy's nod he helps him to get on his tummy, his trembling limbs useless, holding him up with his strong arms as the Devil positions himself, his hard, sweet cock rubbing against Foggy's hole.

He will not live through this, Foggy thinks, whimpering into the pillow as the Devil penetrates him again, slow, deliberate thrusts as if this isn't just an alpha mounting a leaking omega.

He fucks him the way Foggy believes Matt would.

"Come on, let me, let me," the Devil's warm hand closes around Foggy's wet cock. He shudders, meeting the thrusts, the impending orgasm feeling like a black, full storm cloud, like doom. He almost cries out as the knot stretches him even more.

"Say his name," the Devil sounds _wrecked_ , "say _Matt_ , let me hear it when you come."

" _What?!_ " Foggy chokes out into the pillow, a blunt pressure unrelenting on his prostate as well as on his heart.

"Say _Matt_ ," he orders, all growl and barely controlled energy, an alpha who is desperate. His hips stutter as the knot pops in Foggy's body. It's hot and thick, like cream left too long on a burner.

" _Matty_ ," Foggy can't stop himself. He comes, sweaty, he is such a mess, into the Devil's hand. The man above him exhales like he's got all he's ever wanted.

"Yes, moan it for me, for me," he babbles, his hot lips all over the back of Foggy's shoulders. Foggy feels him filling up the condom, a pulsing inside him, a metronome after his heartbeat.

"Matt," Foggy repeats thoughtlessly, trying to look behind him. His heart is racing painfully, a piercing light behind his eyelids through a mist of pleasure. 

The Devil hugs him, his sticky hands bringing him closer to the muscular back. It's a bit awkward and very sticky.

Also, the Devil is just as bad at hugging as he is good at sex.

 _Matt_ , Foggy thinks, staring at the blousy shadow of his dresser, a familiar name so dear his ribs spell it above his heart. He determinedly doesn't think it, doesn't repeat it, rolling it between his teeth like a candy. He is in a perfect condition to go to sleep, sated and filled. Anyway, where would he even go? Their bodies are locked up together; any slight shift of the Devil's hips rubs the hard tissue of his knot against Foggy's prostrate.

"Sleep now, Fog," the Devil murmurs, his stubble prickly and lips wet over the tense artery in Foggy's neck.

"Matt?" Foggy asks. The muscular arm around him presses even closer to his belly, caging him.

It can't be possible. In no way is it possible.

Foggy is not thinking how Matt practically made love to him, insistently and unabashedly poured his love into Foggy. He flat out refused to take it from Foggy, did not accept either his life-long devotion or his drooling omega lust.

Foggy grips the side of his bed, clumsily trying to slither away from the embrace but his biology sparks a sharp pain in between his legs, the knot which was so good a moment ago is now a nuisance. 

Matt behind him lets out a short noise of stress, his fingers combing through the unwashed, sweaty mass on Foggy's head like it's spun gold. 

"Foggy, you will hurt yourself. Later," Matt drags him back to his chest, "Be angry later, hit me if you want. Stay."

"Don't order me like a dog," Foggy hisses back, his back straight, it is impossible to settle down.

"I am asking you as a friend," Matt says. After Foggy snorts, he adds, "Nothing less than a best friend."

"Is that what we are?" the words feel like needles through his ears as he says them. They stuck into Matt as he shudders behind Foggy, an ugly, pitiful, jarring action.

"You are everything to me," Matt answers, his voice wet and choked.

"Am I?"

" _Yes_ ," the loud word is pushed out of him by desperate affection. It feels wet and hot on Foggy's neck, right above the place of the bonding gland.

"Don't touch my neck," he says, sounding accusatory without really meaning to. Matt stiffens behind him.

"I would never... do it without your permission. That's what you think about me?" he accuses Foggy in return.

This is not working at all. 

He just wants to... understand. To carefully flip through whatever secrets Matt embodies, to flip through the pages of them where he could maybe find a dried pretty flower of his heart.

Maybe he will find an explanation where Foggy figures in all of this too.

He sniffles inaudibly, his heart jumping once like it suddenly remembered who it belongs to.

"Foggy, it's my fault," Matt is softer, gentle. His brown sugar mouth distances itself from Foggy's neck, instead speaking to his hair, "I never wanted to hurt you. I never meant to make you feel like," he stops for a second, "like you're not mine and I'm not yours."

Foggy seizes what he hears, not letting himself escape his clutches.

"Matt, you didn't trust me with this. You are the Devil and you didn't trust me," Foggy answers, his conviction crumpling at the edges because these two are not comparable at all, "stop telling me what I want to hear and tell me the truth."

Matt chuckles behind him.

"You never let me get off easily."

"I think tonight you got off rather nicely."

Matt laughs out loud. It's a familiar sound, which is usually followed by a slight blush on Matt's neck. Foggy knows this.

"The truth is that you are the best thing that ever happened to my life. You give me so much, I couldn't ask more."

"So you left me waiting and worrying," Foggy exhales noisily. This, also, is familiar. Quite expected.

Matt shifts closer in his stress, momentarily forgetting his knot inside Foggy's body, and they both moan as Foggy tightens around him.

"Don't try to distract me with your dick, Murdock," Foggy tell him exasperatedly.

"I am not," he answers, a smile in his voice. Then his tone mellows: "it was my mistake to push you away. I never meant to do it. It's no excuse," he sounds sad.

"Then talk to me," Foggy finds his arm around him, strokes the forearm, rubs the knuckles.

"I can always hear you heart and nothing else is dearer to me."

*

Foggy wakes up all sweaty, his heat inflated in his lower belly, warm and tingling like embers. Matt is still in him, taking up space inside his body, exactly where he is supposed to be. He is asleep, breathing softly into Foggy's ear, his strong arms lax around him. It's still dark, the street outside silent like it could never be noisy, soft and stuffed like a blanket.

Foggy doesn't mean to wiggle but they're lying so close together and the tension in his suddenly awake body makes Matt harden. He grunts, pushing deeper, on the verge of waking up. Foggy bites his hand, trying to stay quiet, though even he can smell his slick, sour in its cloying sweetness and the heat between them; Matt's sensitive nose must be burning.

That's... gonna take some time to use to. Matt's nose, Matt's ears, Matt's mouth.

Here in the bed with him and for him. 

Matt inhales sharply, the muscles in his body alert as he grinds into Foggy's body.

"That's a nice wake up call," he says playfully, rasp with sleep and lust. His fingers in Foggy's hair are gentle.

"S-sorry, it's still early," Foggy moans, gripping the arm around him. He tries to roll his hips and meet Matt's shallow thrusts but the angle is uncomfortable.

"Wait a sec," Matt pulls out. Foggy groans and flops on his back, legs spread. His fingers absentmindedly bypass his cock and circle around his drenched, sensitive hole.

Matt took off his mask some time ago. Foggy can discern the whites of his eyes, the smooth shade of his hair. As his handsome best friend rips open another pack of condoms, Foggy plunges two fingers in himself, moaning at the friction.

"You're teasing me, Foggy?" Matt asks amiably, crawling closer, his big hands like brands on Foggy's thighs. He sits in between them like he's at home.

"No," Foggy extends his hand, bites his lip, does not comment. Matt catches it easily, sucks the tip of the thumb into his mouth, then kisses Foggy's wrist where his heart spins gold. "I will tease you after my heat breaks."

Matt laughs loudly. He shifts Foggy's leg on his shoulder. Foggy's fingers slip out, sticky.

"Then I will definitely go mad," he whispers, pushing in. Foggy sighs at the slowness, clenching gratefully at the hard cock sliding in.

"You feel so good, so sweet for me, Matty," he murmurs. His best friend speeds up in return, filling him up with passion. The meat of Matt's knot stretches him even more, almost overwhelming.

 _There's no one else_ , Foggy thinks, kissing his way up to Matty's lips. _You're the only one for me_ , he thinks calmly, his lips tingling with the butterfly-quick rhythm of Matt's heartbeat. _I'm yours_ , he smiles as the lovely mouth beneath his responds eagerly.

"Love you," Matt barely brushes his knuckles over Foggy's dick and he comes with a barely audible - perfectly apprehensible for Matt - _yes_ and then he says _I love you too_.


End file.
